Nice to have met you, Inspector. Bye, George.'
And then she was gone, the door left wide, open, a strong perfume lingering in the room. Both men were silent for a moment. Rebus was the first to speak.
'I believe your description was “a cracker” George. Remind me never to let you arrange a blind date for me.'
It was late afternoon and Rebus' sat in Flight's office alone, a pad of paper in front of him on the desk. He tapped his pen like a drumstick against the edge of the table and stared at the two names he had written so far.
Dr Anthony Morrison. Tommy Watkiss.
These were people he wanted to see. He drew 'a thick line beneath them and wrote two more names: Rhona. 'Samantha. These, too, were people he wanted, to see, though for personal reasons.
Flight had gone off to see Chief Inspector Lame on another floor of the building. The invitation did not extend to Rebus. He picked up the last remaining quarter of his salami sandwich, but thought better of it and tossed it into the office's metal bin. Too salty. And what kind of meat was salami anyway? He now had a craving for more tea. He thought Flight had dialled 18 to order up the first pot, but decided against trying it. He didn't want to make a fool of himself, did he? It would be just his, luck to get through to Chief' Superintendent Pearson.
Just a friendly warning. The point was not lost on Rebus. He crumpled up his list and threw that, in the bin too, then got up out of his chair and made for the main office. He knew he should be doing something, or should at least seem to be doing something. They had brought him four hundred miles to help them. But he couldn't for the life of him see any gaps in their investigation. They were doing everything they could, but to no avail. He was just another straw to be clutched at. Just another chance for that elusive Lucky Break.
He was studying the wall-map, when the voice sounded, behind him.
`Sir?'
He turned to see one of the Murder Room team standing there. `Yes?'
`Someone to see you, sir.'
`Me?'
'Well, you're the most senior detective around, at the moment, sir.'
Rebus considered this. `Who is it?'
The officer checked the scrap of paper in, his hand. `A Dr Frazer, sir.'
Rebus considered a. moment longer. `All right,' he said, turning back towards the tiny office. `Give me a minute and then send him in.' He stopped. 'Oh, and bring some tea, will you?'
`Yes, sir,' said the officer. He waited until Rebus had left the room, then turned to the others, seated at their desks and smiling at him. `The cheek of these fucking jocks,' he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. `Remind me to piss in the teapot before I take it in.'
Dr Frazer turned out to be a woman. What was more, as she entered the office, she was attractive enough to have Rebus, half-rise from his desk in welcome.
`Inspector Rebus?'
`That's right. Dr Frazer, I presume?'
`Yes.' She showed a row of perfect teeth as Rebus invited her to take a seat. `Though. I'd better explain.' Rebus fixed his eyes on her own and nodded. He kept his eyes fixed on hers for fear that otherwise they would be drawn down to her slim tanned legs, to that point where, an inch above the knee, her cream skirt began, hugging her thighs. He had taken her body in with single sweeping glance. She was tall, almost as tall as him. Her legs were bare and long, her body supple. She was wearing a jacket to match the skirt and a plain white blouse, set off by a single string of pearls. There was a slight, exquisite scar on her throat just above the pearls and her face was tanned and without make-up, her jaw square, her hair straight and black, tied back with a black band, so that a shock of it fell onto one shoulder. She had brought a soft black leather briefcase into the room, which she now held up in her lap, running her fingers around the handles as she, spoke.
`I'm not a medical doctor.' Rebus registered slight surprise. `I'm a doctor courtesy of my Ph.D. I teach psychology at University College.'
`And you're American,' said Rebus. `Canadian actually.'
Yes, he should have known. There was a soft lilt to her accent, something few Americans possessed. And she wasn't quite as nasal as the tourists who stopped in Princes Street to get a picture of the Scott Monument.
`I'm sorry,' he said, `so, what can I do for you, Dr. Frazer?'
'Well, 'I did talk to someone on the telephone this morning and I told them of my interest in the Wolfman case.'
Rebus could see it all now. Another nutter with some crazy idea about the Wolfman, that's probably what the Murder Room had thought. So they'd decided to play a joke on him, arranged a meeting without letting him know, and then Flight, forewarned, had made himself, scarce. Well, the joke was on them. Rebus could always find time for an attractive woman, crazy or not. After all, he had nothing better to do, had he?
`Go on,' he said.
`I'd like to try to put together a profile of the Wolfman.'
`A profile?'
`A psychological profile. Like an identikit, but building up a picture of the mind rather than the face. I've been doing some research on criminal profiling and I think I can use similar criteria to help you come to a clearer understanding of the killer.' She paused. `What do you think?'
`I'm wondering what's in it for you, Dr Frazer.'?
